Beyond the Dark Gate

by R. V. Johnson

  The Alchemist froze.

  Tarn coughed into a shoulder.

  Camoe folded his arms to his chest, looking down at the man. He chafed at the delay, but knowledge gained, even from a duped, untrustworthy source, may save lives later. “You have intelligence and some natural ability to read intent, I believe. Tell me, what is my intention if you do not offer some value to our quest?”

  No longer smiling, the Alchemist drew breath. “I have created a remedy for the lung rot your man has acquired.”

  “Give it to him.”

  The Alchemist stood slowly, raising the swords with his broad shoulders as Tarn’s coughing worsened, drawing a drop of blood at his lower neck. The hooded man’s frown was brief. “If you desire my death, tell your man to finish it or remove them. You attacked me at my camp,” he said, his golden eyes brightening in the morning sunlight.

  Camoe was sorely tempted to give the order to rid Astura of the Alchemist’s blight upon the world; the disease of him could be vanquished right here. The hooded man had committed atrocities simply to progress his wicked experiments. The Green Writhe knew about his carnages for seasons, yet they had done nothing to stop him. Perhaps now was the time.

  Tarn stood at the ready. A simple flex of his druidic friend’s muscles would end it. Then Tarn would die. Camoe was not prepared to make such a decision yet. “Put away your steel. Let him continue to draw breath, for now.”

  Tarn did so without question. Covering his mouth with a shoulder, he hacked into it, eyeing the Alchemist.

  “Give him the antidote to whatever foulness your flask contained,” Camoe said softly. He was nearing the end of his patience. Jade moved farther away the longer they stood in one place. Now that they were close, they may catch them before they reached the ferry.

  The Alchemist smiled. “He shall have it as soon as we get it from my chambers at the Citadel. You have my guarantee you shall all have safe passage once the remedy is administered.”

  “You take me for a FOOL!” Camoe roared. “Kill him.”

  His hands bound, the Alchemist scurried away from Tarn as he raised his long knives again, but a pull of the rope flung him back. In desperation, he attempted to shoulder Tarn, who pushed him away easily. The druid prepared his swing. “Wait!” he yelled. “There is another method!”

  “Hold!” Camoe shouted.

  Coughing, Tarn lowered his weapons.

  “Passage root will open the airway and slow the effect, prolonging his life until the remedy is retrieved. Once we have traveled close to the Citadel, I can send someone to get it, eliminating the need for you to go there. Is this sufficient for an agreement?” the Alchemist asked.

  Camoe glared at the man. “Passage root is a simple herb used for head and sinus ailments. Do you dare still toy with me?”

  The Alchemist’s chin rose. “If I say to use it, do so, or do not. His life becomes yours by the decision. I carry the herb always.”

  “Then we shall see,” Camoe said.

  “I’ll get it,” Girth volunteered. “We haven’t yet taken the time to discover what else he carries. The time has come to remedy that.”

  “Do not touch me,” the Alchemist snarled. Pulling away, the rope bit into his hands and jerked him around to face the man holding the rope. Long Draught yanked hard again, tugging him close.

  The whistle of a blue mirral shrieked along the gap. Peers. “Find cover!” Camoe shouted. Jumping from the cairn, he dropped behind a large slate boulder. The mangled carcass of a beetle lay on the threshold of one of their dark holes, but he had no time to worry over the possibility of attack from below.

  Something big sped along the gap from the bottom.

  Scraping both sides where the gap narrowed, a monstrous dragon lion clawed toward the only living thing visible, the Alchemist. Clattering upon a pair of boulders, the long snout of its great lion head bit at the dark hood of the Alchemist.

  A sharp tug yanked the Alchemist from his feet.

  The powerful jaws of the creature clicked together, snapping upon empty air. Snarling, the dragon lion raised its head and raked the ground with its powerful lizard-like hooked claw. The Alchemist rolled to the side.

  Then Long Draught was there. A half-spear in each hand, he sank the one in his right hand into the heel of the dragon lion’s claw. Half the bladed end protruded through to the other side.

  The claw jerked away, taking the spear with it as the dragon lion reared.

  Hampered by his hands tied together, the hooded man gained his feet and shuffled backward until bumping into a boulder.

  Long Draught reached under his left shoulder and pulled a third half-spear from its sheath.

  Camoe dashed to the top of the largest rock cairn and hopped upon a nearby boulder pile, scrambling along a jumbled outcropping. A thick slab of limestone slate jutted outward, teetering precariously as he crept upon it.

  The dragon lion’s tail whipped back and forth, slamming into the crumbling slate rock walls as it roared with frenzy. The outcropping rattled and shook from vibration.

  Camoe shuffled away from edge, using his weight to balance the slab. The next whip of the dragon lion’s tail would fling him toward it. Drawing his sword, he braced for it.

  Girth appeared at the dragon lion’s left foreleg, his great hammer held high.

  “Wait!” Camoe yelled.

  With all the force of Girth’s considerable weight and strength, the hammer blurred and then slammed upon the dragon lion’s three-toed foreleg. Blood sprayed around it.

  The dragon lion roared and then leapt the only way open to it, its lashing tail striking the outcropping. The slab fell away, launching Camoe as he wanted, but the trajectory was wrong; changed by the dragon’s leap, he would pass by, flung too far. He swung his sword, hoping to slice into the softer fur of the lion’s head where it joined the hard scale of the reptilian body.

  Twisting harshly in his hand, Camoe’s sword glanced off the hard scale below the neck and wedged under the plate below. Slamming into the beast, Camoe lost his footing though he retained his grip on his sword. Drawing his long knife, he caught a glimpse of Long Draught on one knee, his half-spears held high. Then the dragon lion’s wide back covered him from view.

  The jolt of the creature’s weight as it thumped the ground nearly jarred his grip free. The dragon lion bucked, roaring with rage and pain. Camoe held on by stabbing his long knife below an ear. Roaring weakly, the dragon lion careened from side to side, clattering against rocks, trying to dislodge him. A pile of slate toppled covering the place he’d last seen Girth.

  Surging forward, the dragon lion stumbled and fell, its lion snout digging into the rocky ground.

  Refusing to let go, Camoe ran in front, as the beast slid to a halt.

  Thrashing fitfully, its powerful hind legs clawed at the stone and then grew still.

  Finally daring to release his hold on his long sword, Camoe looked around, his alarm growing.

  Long Draught, Girth, and their hostage, the Alchemist, were missing.

  DEPTHS

  Garn kept the horses calm at the ferry’s center simply by being near. Though both of the stallions didn’t like standing on bobbing wood that floated on water, the warhorses were veterans of previous rides and only moved to maintain stability. Having a smooth ride helped, for which he was grateful. The source of the ride’s smoothness, Black Bottom Ferry’s owner, stood with his back to him centered at the boat’s front keel. Statuesque, Surn had one arm outstretched toward unseen land and the other palm down toward the water. Garn had been surprised to discover he was a User, but he should’ve known. How else would the ferry acquire the power to move on Astura? Surn must have some strength too. Their steady progress across the long right fork of the lake had not once faltered.

  “He does well for his chosen profession,” Captain Bozlun said from behind him.

  Putting his daughter behind him, Garn turned. Captain Bozlun and General Karnas gazed a
t the two of them calmly. Where Bozlun’s brown eyes glinted with vigor, Karnas’ contrasted with his dull eyes of light blue, reminding Garn of the leechers more than he liked. The general’s gray complexion indicated the man was sick or getting over something that made him ill, almost as if a spiderbee had leeched some life from him. “That he does, but I’m certain you did not seek me out to discuss the ferryman. What is it you want to speak of?” Garn asked.

  “How did you and my escort package survive the leechers when so many of my men died?” the general rasped. Struggling for volume, his voice came out as a wheeze.

  “My sister calls them spiderbees,” Jade said. “Are you unwell?” she asked the general.

  General Karnas ignored her question, not even deigning to look at her.

  “The general has assured me he is as well as ever,” Captain Bozlun answered.

  Garn replied to the original question. “The leechers, the spiderbees, are impervious to normal weapons. According to the ferryman, the spiderbees’ only weakness is real wood.”

  “Yes, that is right,” Captain Bozlun said. “Yet you do not carry wooden items. Except for the hardwood cross bolts, none of the men do. There has been little need. Leechers have never swarmed in such a capacity before, preferring to seek out one or two hapless souls traveling alone or to drink from the animals of the wild.”

  Garn regarded the general though he spoke to the captain. “The boat we stand upon was our salvation. The ropes they make for netting is woven from wood not plants. I used them. The ferrymen have had a run-in with a few spiderbees in the recent past.”

  His gray grizzled face staying passive, General Karnas’ dull eyes showed nothing of his thoughts. “I commend you on your survival perseverance. We shall take command of the ‘package’ from this point. Consider her under my personal protection. You shall report to Captain Bozlun.”

  Jade made a small sound.

  No one looked at her for which Garn was thankful. He had to stop this now. “I am truly sorry, general. You seem like a good commander, but I do not take orders from you or your man. There is only one man whom I follow, and his orders were clear. The ‘package,’ as you so elegantly described, is deliverable to Lord Alchemist’s chambers by his personal guard. You know as well as I do who that is. Do you wish to risk his ire now that we’re close to finishing this?” Reaching over his shoulder, Garn gripped his sword and backed away, shouldering his daughter with him. His arm had some feeling returning but no muscle control yet. Given a choice, he’d take control over feeling, but the two had to work together.

  General Karnas’ hand went to his weapon, a long sword hung centered at his waist at a forty-five-degree angle. “Though I am certain you understood my command, I shall express it one final time. Release her unto me and report to Captain Bozlun.”

  Captain Bozlun stepped in front of Garn, his back to him. “Are you certain of this, General? He does have our lord’s support.”

  “Move away, Bozlun. I am your lord, you shall do as commanded,” General Karnas rasped.

  Garn backed slowly starboard; his daughter’s hand on the small of his back informed him she moved with him. Good girl. The nine remaining in Karnas’ original regiment spread out on each side, shuffling to ring him. He couldn’t have that; a 270-degree radius was better to guard than a 360-degree radius. He preferred his back to the water.

  As Garn slid his sword from the sheath, the nine drew weapons. Five raised swords, and four leveled crossbows. The bows didn’t concern him, but he worried a stray bolt might hit Jade. Her hand pressed against his back. He stopped. He sensed more than saw brackish water on either side. They’d reached the ferry’s edge. “Stay behind me and keep low,” he told his daughter without taking his eyes from the soldiers.

  “Hold!” Captain Bozlun shouted. “No one makes a move, or I—”

  The splotch-schalunk sound of sharp steel puncturing flesh and ending at bone cut through the air with stark clarity.

  Captain Bozlun hunched, bending toward General Karnas.

  Quick and decisive, the extended ping of steel scraping metal armor accompanied General Karnas withdrawing his sword.

  Captain Bozlun collapsed to the deck.

  Sword in hand, General Karnas advanced. The tone of his voice was now strong. “If anyone even nicks the girl, they shall meet the same fate as the captain. Kill the mercenary!”

  Garn flowed into Beaver Builds a Wall stance, blocking a cross bolt with the flat of his blade and then following through with a curved parry. A sharp ring echoed dully across the ferry as Garn smacked away sword thrusts to either side hard enough the two men winced. Wary, the two stepped back, waiting for an opening. He blocked a second bolt and prepared to give them what they waited for, drawing them closer.

  General Karnas charged, chopping wildly. He shuffled back and forth clumsily, swinging hard as if he believed sheer brute force would end the fight in his favor. Though surprised by the moves, Garn parried easily, slicing across the older man’s forearm. Blood streamed down his arm and dripped from his elbow. Not slowing, General Karnas hacked and thrust as if untrained. Garn’s parries caught them and the third cross bolt.

  Nonetheless, the general’s unorthodox attack was eking away at Garn’s strength; the wild swings took much concentration and muscle to stop. The powerful commander had created a distraction he couldn’t afford, adding an element of danger outside his control. The five soldiers brandishing long swords were shuffling close. A subtle look would signal the move to come at him as one. He hoped they worked well together. The stance Wind Blows in the Rushes worked best with a well-ordered simultaneous attack.

  As Garn fended off another flurry of blows from the general, Jade called to one of the crossbowmen circling for a back shot, a man nearly within his quick-strike range who hadn’t long to live. The man stopped shuffling for position when his daughter shouted something about plate armor. The man would live a little longer. Yet it was time to end this.

  Deciding on the best position to have General Karnas’ body fall for fast removal of the rest, Garn would have missed the danger reaching for him, if not for his daughter’s scream.

  *****

  Jade was frightened for her father. Surrounded by men and women with swords and crossbows, the maniac General Karnas thrust and chopped at him. Even though he bled from a wounded forearm, the general still swung with great vigor. Jade worried it was too much for her dad. What would he do if they attacked at once?

  To make matters worse, three of the four with crossbows had bolts redrawn as they maneuvered for a shot. The fourth cranked on the drawstring with less than half the distance to the trigger latch remaining. Then, the soldier woman would drop in a bolt and point it at her dad. Jade had to help him. But how?

  Reading the aura revolving around someone was her only ability, useless when it came to aiding in a battle, fighting for survival. Or was it? Perhaps she could discover something to stay the hand of those attacking, at the least, glean intent. Perhaps then, she could call out a warning.

  As one of the three crossbowmen slipped around the left perimeter working for an unguarded back shot, Jade slowed the rotation around him and shuffled through the three images, marveling how easy such things came now.

  The first image, a scaly beast with the head of a lion was no help and frightening to look at. She hastily moved on to the second. A golden-haired woman wearing a blue dress twirled a parasol at the end of a pier. She might have a use for that one, but she didn’t get the feeling the woman was the soldier’s companion. The third image contained what she hoped. Black plate armor hung on a rack. Jade let the images revolve back into the cyclone raging around him. “You with the crossbow, slinking to the side,” Jade called. “If you harm the hooded man’s guardian, you’ll never receive plate armor.”

  The man froze and then frowned. “How could you know that?” he mouthed. Then, looking behind her, his eyes widened.

  Something dark and slimy pinned her
arms to her chest and lifted her from the decking.

  Jade screamed.

  Jade lost her breath when the thing tightened its grip, squeezing with suffocating force. Jade felt herself ascending at a rapid rate. Quickly, the ferry shrank in size as she rose upward. Monstrous black tentacles dropped upon the decking, tilting the boat violently with their great weight.

  Now, she descended faster than when she’d risen. The tentacle loosened its hold slightly. Jade barely had the presence of mind to gulp air as she plunged underwater.

  *****

  The ferry listed sharply starboard. Garn twisted his legs, getting his feet sideways as he slid toward the edge. Digging his sword into the wood, it further helped slow his slide, allowing him to come to a complete stop a few inches from dropping into open water. A black tentacle stabbed from the black depths, seeking to wrap around him. Garn sliced through it. The stump withdrew as the severed half flopped on the deck and then rolled into the lake.

  Garn’s heart caught in his throat. One of the bloody squirming things had his daughter, carrying her down toward the lake.

  Gasping for breath, Jade crashed into the lake’s surface and vanished beneath, pulled from sight before he could react. As one, the tentacles withdrew, plopping into the water. The ferry bucked, rocking violently portside. Sliding backward, Garn kept his balance as the boat righted itself.

  Both hands gripping his upraised sword, General Karnas stumbled past him, screaming manically, “You shall not have it for your own!” He stepped from the ferry and sank.

  Garn had no time to wonder. Sheathing his sword, he drew his dagger, wedged it between his teeth as he dashed across the decking, and dived into the lake where he’d seen his daughter last.

  Though not frigid, the water was cold and dark. If not for the large bubbles of air floating toward him, he may have soon lost his way. Fanning his arms and pumping his legs, he swam, giving his all. The bubbles rose larger as a murky shape moved below and then stopped.